


The Sound of His Wings

by Charli



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s07e02 Hello Cruel World, Love, M/M, Memories, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-15
Updated: 2011-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:10:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charli/pseuds/Charli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean remembers Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound of His Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics by John Hiatt

_~Somebody just stopped calling you Angel.  
Somebody just let love get up and go downtown _

There had been a time when Dean hated sleeping. A time when he came back from hell and the only way he could remember where he’d been was by dreaming; with the sting of tearing flesh and the screams of the damned ringing in his ears. He would wake from a nightmare and throw off the fear-damp sheets in the vain hope of throwing off the clinging demons of sleep, and ridding himself of the blood and bone behind his eyes, the fire and fury burning through his synapses.

Then suddenly, hell was replaced with the soft rustle of feathers and the creeping shadows of something that shouldn’t exist.

Castiel

Dean didn’t know him. Didn’t know whether to believe in him, trust him...follow him.

And yet

He had looked into those dark blue eyes and found comfort that was almost divine. The wings, shadowy and dark and untouchable, and Dean yearned. Physically yearned to have those wings wrapped around his body, to be bound tightly to the angel’s chest and kept safe from the flames that licked at his ankles.

*

Dean has been fighting demons his whole life, literal and imagined. But not once, not once did he ever stop to consider there might be another side, another reason to believe.

And Castiel told him that he dragged Dean out of hell because God commanded it. And it is the hand of an angel that is burned into Dean’s flesh. And each night he spends lying on a lumpy bed in an anonymous motel room, staring blindly ahead into the dark and listening to Sam’s rhythmic breathing and occasional nasal rattle, Dean can feel the handprint itch with knowing.

And now he remembers Castiel; he remembers the long over coat, the crumpled shirt and the askew tie. Castiel with his heaven-weary eyes, full of the power of God; ready to smite and fight and all Dean can think about is what it was like to fuck him.

It started in the moments when Cas would take him by surprise. An angel sneak attack, when Dean would turn and look into those wide innocent eyes and trick himself into believing that he could see the shadow of lust turning them a deeper shade of blue.

Castiel was the soft voice in his ear, the gentle hand on his shoulder, the answer to his prayers. And Dean prayed.

He prayed to the angel to help him and Sam. He prayed to the angel to help others.

And then one night Dean prayed for himself.

*

 _Dean has been torturing himself, night after endless long dark night of biting down on the mattress as the moans escape him, his seed spilling into his hot hand and trickling through his fingers, away into the rough cotton sheets. As his body shudders in climax he prays to Castiel to hear him, to answer him, to put him out of this wretched misery._

 _And in yet another room that is never home, Dean is answered by the whisper of unfurling wings. The darkness is complete, endless and Dean can smell his own sweat, his semen, and warm-earth-rain-damp scent of the man angel._

 _“Dean?” Castiel sounds as perplexed as he usually does._

 _Dean screws his eyes shut tight and bites on his bottom lip. What the fuck has he done? He has summoned an angel whilst in throes of orgasm; he’s taken blasphemy to a whole new level._

 _Dean feels the mattress dip slightly as it takes Cas’s weight, and he can feel the eyes of heaven boring into him as he rests, naked and cooling with just the thin covering of a sheet between himself and Castiel. Dean has the feeling that in Castiel’s eyes he can be seen as clearly as if he is bathed in sunlight._

 _“Do you want me?” Cas asks softly, and Dean draws in a tight ragged breath as he tries to fathom how he can possibly answer that loaded question._

 _“Cas…”_

 _Not a question, not quite a statement. It is the word made flesh and Castiel says “Dean.” And it is final. And it is finally._

 _Suddenly they are illuminated by the neon blue of a bar sign flickering into life close outside the window. Castiel is dangerous and darkly beautiful in the half light of the dingy hotel room. Dean sits up and as the sheet falls away, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin glistens in the shadows. He reaches out and grabs the angel by the tie. He pulls Cas forward and leans in to kiss him soft and full on the mouth. Castiel’s lips are firm and dry and part slightly as Dean’s tongue adventures between them. They each keep their eyes open, watching the other, waiting for the next cue._

 _Dean breaks the kiss and Castiel says “Oh.” And stands and takes off that slightly shabby coat, removes his tie and sits back down._

 _Dean is amazed that no further words, no more explanation is required. Castiel’s presence both scares and arouses him, he is comforted and he is concerned and suddenly his hand is reaching out to touch the side of the angel’s face. Cas puts his hand gently over Dean’s and there is understanding, and they are past the point of no return, and this time Castiel kisses him._

 _The kiss is harder, more urgent and Dean laces his fingers through Castiel’s hair and pulls him closer still as Cas presses warm hand against Dean’s chest. Castiel gently traces the outline of the handprint, his handprint, which is etched on Dean’s skin._

 _“Save me.” Dean whispers into Castiel’s mouth, and Cas’s hands are exploring his naked flesh; the curve of his biceps, the rise and fall of his chest._

 _Dean’s mouth moves from lips to neck to clavicle, nipping gently as he goes, fingering open the buttons of Castiel’s shirt. As the shirt slides down his waist, Castiel pushes Dean back against the pillows, looks him hard in the eyes, and says in earnest “Always. I will always save you Dean Winchester.”_

 _There are clothes and there is a sheet, and then there is not, and then they are naked, and Dean is lying on his back with Castiel hot and hard between his thighs. Dean is very aware that it is Castiel who is fucking him, who is biting hard on Dean’s bottom lip, whose tongue is flicking over his teeth and invading his mouth._

 _Castiel’s love-making, and it is love-making, has a gentle urgency about it. Like it might be over for them any second, like the world might end and they will be torn apart. Dean grabs Cas’s shoulders and pulls him down, clings to him like a drowning lover, fearful that this moment might be ripped away from him. That he will never know this all-consuming, unconditional, heaven-sent love again._

 _They fuck and they kiss, and they hold each other. And Cas comes, more nights than not, to Dean unbidden. Castiel is Dean’s brother, his father, his angel. He is the light at the end of the tunnel and Dean is saved simply by lying in his arms._

 _And Sam will never know._

*

Dean is haunted by these images, they are scar tissue on his retinas, burning scenes of feathers and fucking and not even his tears can wash them away. He buries his face hard into the pillow and tries to stifle the howl that wants to tear out of his throat and release its anguish on the world.

And Castiel existed and was, and Dean watched and dreamed, and took comfort in the little things, in his presence, his nearness, his scent. And it was always that he promised. He promised: always.

Now in the darkness Dean listens hard to the silence and tries to be comforted by the memory of the sound of his wings.

FIN


End file.
